


Nightmare

by RandallsRedTie



Category: The Hour
Genre: Anger, Drinking, Emptiness, Hurt, Other, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 14:19:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandallsRedTie/pseuds/RandallsRedTie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Randall has a bad dream, but when he wakes, the real nightmare begins...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmare

Randall wakes with a start, momentarily forgetting where he is. He’d been having a nightmare, the one that had haunted him since leaving Spain. In his dream broken bodies reach out to him for help, bleeding children cling to their dead mothers, Lix holds a camera that turns into a gun...that she aims at him…pulls the trigger. Pain shoots through his chest, through his heart. She smiles down at him after he falls… This is always where he wakes, the sound of the gunshot still ringing in his ears.. He’s read enough Freud to know there’s some deep symbolism behind this dream. He reaches out in the dark for her, as he always does when the dream comes. But his hands find nothing but a cold bed. He sits up quickly, reaches over to the table for his glasses and to turn the light on. In doing so he knocks over a half-empty whiskey glass, the liquid seeping into a note scrawled in a hurry. He grabs the note before the liquid ruins it, shakes off the alcohol. He read the words over and over but they don’t seem to sink in. His body begins to tremble with both anger and fear. Hot tears fight their way out of his eyes and down his face. Gone. She’s gone…  
And Randall isn’t sure if he’s still dreaming, because this, life without her, is the real nightmare. His trembling hands fold the note neatly and he gets up out of the bed and puts it away, somewhere safe. He looks around the room, taking stock. She’s left most of her things behind, clothes lying about, rolls of undeveloped film strewn across a side table. He begins to tidy things up, unable to resist the compulsion to do so. After a while he realizes that he’s still naked but he doesn’t care. He can’t stop until he’s put everything back in order, hidden away the evidence of her time there. He puts all of her clothes and possessions into a suitcase and hides it in the back of his closet. The rolls of film he locks away in a spare drawer. When he is finished he sits on the edge of the bed, lights a cigarette. Then another. And sits, staring at nothing, feeling nothing but hatred at the empty room. When the sun starts to filter slowly through the windows he stands up, puts his clothes on without washing or shaving, and walks out of the building into the early morning Paris street. He wanders around until it’s time to go to work. The editor asks where Lix is and Randall says he doesn’t know and that she won’t be back. Something in his voice and appearance causes the editor to leave it at that. And Randall gets on with his work, hacking away at the typewriter, pounding the keys mercilessly. He smokes like a chimney, only has a croissant and coffee all day. Doesn’t speak to anyone unless he has to, wanders the office at lunchtime, fiddles endlessly with his tie and clothing. Eats no dinner. When he gets home he doesn’t even turn on the light, just sits at his desk and smokes as he stares out the window. Unshed tears burn behind his eyes but he doesn’t let them fall, will never cry over her again. He asks himself why but he doesn’t really want to know. He drinks a whisky, then another, and pretty soon half the bottle’s gone. Drunk and heartbroken he stumbles into bed without removing his clothes. He doesn’t dream. The nightmare never visits him again.


End file.
